


Glowing Eyes and Needless Lies

by Mimsys



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Magic Reveal, No Spoilers, Violence, arthur's POV but 3rd person, but not graphic, canon-era violence, set after uther's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2491583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mimsys/pseuds/Mimsys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur took Merlin as his consort almost a full year ago and has known of his magic for almost as long. Merlin, oblivious to that fact, continues to hide his powers - even when it puts his own life at risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glowing Eyes and Needless Lies

**Author's Note:**

> **If I owned Merlin, I wouldn't be writing fanfic.**

Arthur isn’t sure how Merlin has kept his head in Camelot for so long given how abysmally rubbish he is at hiding his powers. Even ignoring the impossible frequency at which tress just happened to fall on those who would have hurt Arthur otherwise, there had been too many times when enemy swords had simply crumpled like damp parchment when they met his shield or armor.

And Arthur was certainly not forgetting the way Merlin’s eyes glowed bright amber and sunlight when they kissed, the way parchment fluttered on the tables and tapestries shifted on the walls as they embraced. When Merlin lost himself in his love for Arthur, his magic wrested control away from the sorcerer and sparked like dragon’s flame around him, and Merlin – oblivious, clueless, wonderful Merlin – had yet to notice. Merlin, despite his fumbling protests, was magic.

Which is why Arthur couldn’t understand the sword slicing neatly through his consort’s stomach; the prince had been leading his knights – and Merlin, because he always had Merlin at his side, and being with Merlin was its own kind of magic – on a stag hunt when the bandits had laid siege on their procession. Swords clashed with armor and blades alike, ruffians driven back without a single knight downed in the onslaught.

But then Merlin screamed and Arthur’s world ground to a stop, vision narrowing on the seeping blood that stained his lover’s Pendragon-red tunic dark. Merlin’s legs buckled under his weigh and he would have fallen to his knees had Gwaine not been near enough to wrap an arm around him; the usually jovial night was stoic, concern creasing his features, and was quickly joined by the others in easing Merlin to the forest floor so that the injured man could lay flat on his back.

Arthur moved quickly to Merlin’s side, leaving the death of the man who had harmed his consort to hands more steady than his, and laid trembling palms against Merlin’s stomach to apply pressure to the wound. “I don’t suppose you know how to stitch yourself up?” He asked, moving one blood slicked hand back to cradle the sorcerer’s head in his calloused palm. Even as the knights babbled about their skill – or rather lack of skill – in the medicinal arts, Arthur kept his gaze locked on Merlin’s unfocused eyes, silently begging them to glow golden.

“Not I.” Replied the dark haired man with a grin that was as sheepish as it was pained, “You know I’m much too clumsy for needlework no matter how often you call me a girl, sire.” His teasing fell flat, Merlin’s breath short and choppy from the effort it took to speak, and his eyes – eyes that refused to glow golden – closed, and Arthur feared that they’d never open again. Merlin, overtaken by either pain or exhaustion, didn’t stir once as they washed the wound and applied a salve to its ragged edges, made only a faint noise of protest when they stripped him of his tunic, the golden crest adorning it that marked his status as consort shredded by the blow, and wrapped his torso and stomach in thick layers of bandagers. It wasn’t until Gwaine and Arthur were halfway to Camelot with Merlin hung in a makeshift litter between their two steads that he woke enough to speak. “Is everyone safe?” He slurred, breath hitching painfully each time the sling swung in time to the horses’ steps, and tried to sit up to look around him.

"Have gone ahead.” Gwaine soothed, bending forward to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder reassuringly and press him back down before he strained his injuries. “They’re giving Gaius time to get supplies ready for the sorry mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.” As a reply, Merlin, with words clumsy on his tongue, thanked the knight before drifting back off into fever-fueled sleep.

Gwaine and his lord arrived at Camelot shortly before nightfall with a trembling sorcerer slung between them still; Merlin was clutching at the litter, breath shallow and rush from pain and arched up, body held taunt and burning with pain, with each jarring step. Arthur swung off his horse, lifting Merlin carefully from the sling and into his arms, cradling his injured love close to his chest. “You’re going to be okay.” He vowed, carefully tilting the other’s head to lean it against his shoulder, wincing at the heat he felt under his palm. “We’re going to get you to Gaius and he’ll fix you right up, love, I promise.” If he was expecting an encouraging response, Arthur didn’t receive one; Merlin just buried his face in Arthur’s shoulder and breathed in his scent between gasping breaths.

When Merlin was delivered into Gaius’ capable hands, the bandagers were unwound to reveal the extent of the damage, and it quickly became clear that the wound had become infected; swollen, wet with pus and blood, and streaked with skin that was flushed an angry red, the injury was clearly worse than Merlin had dealt with before, at least as long as Arthur had known him. “And he’ll be alright?” Arthur asked, using his position as both prince and partner to remain by Merlin’s side as the court physician carefully slid a scalpel over the makeshift stitching binding Merlin’s stomach to split it, removing the clumsy strands so that the wound could be treated and re-stitched.

“I will do my best to ensure so, sire.” The old man replied, shaky with his own worry.

“Just magic it better.” Merlin mumbled, eyes glinting gold in their murky depths and cheeks flushed with fever, as he peered up at the pair in obvious, if amicable, confusion. “Just like always right, G-“

“He’s delirious, sire.” Gaius interrupted, placing one hand on Merlin’s shoulder, and Arthur suspected magic played a role in how quickly Merlin fell asleep with his cheek resting against the back of his mentor’s wrinkled hand. “It’s the fever; he doesn’t know what he’s saying. Merlin would never-“ The blond only smiled in vague amusement, earning a sharp intake of breath from the healer. “You know.” He accused.

“Of course I know.” Arthur retorted, perhaps a bit sharper than he’d meant to, and sighed softly. “He’s lucky not to have bene discovered when my father was alive although I, of course, would not have reported him, even before the handfasting.” Despite his pleasant words, Arthur knew there was a very real change that he might have, too blinded by Uther’s expectations, and he couldn’t fault Merlin for his wariness. “Use any magic necessary to tend to is injuries, Gaius.”

“As you wish, Arthur.” The smile Gaius sent him in return was almost indulgent, as if royal decree would never have stopped him from doing so, and Arthur breathed a faint sigh of relief. “May I suggest that you inform the knights of Merlin’s state? They seemed most anxious.” The prince nodded sharply, having spent enough time in Uther’s company to know when he was being dismissed, but suspected that the man wished solitude to work his craft his peace and couldn’t find it in himself to care, not with Merlin’s health on the line, so he turned to take his leave. He almost missed the old man’s parting words, spoken softly enough not to require a reply: “Your mother would have been proud, my boy.”

—

Even with magic, it took Merlin the better part of a week before he was allowed to leave Gaius’ chambers to gossip with Gwen and debate politics with Kay as if he’d not been grievously wounded only days before; at night, when Arthur could unpin the heavy ceremonial cloak from around his shoulders and set aside his sword, Merlin was in their shared rooms, waiting with open arms and a warm, if exhausted smile, and they would curl up together amongst fine blankets on a bed Merlin had once had to tend to.

Some time later, when Merlin was well on his way to not only healed but recuperated and Arthur was tired of needless lies, the prince nuzzled his consort awake in the faint glow of morning and, once Merlin was blinking open sleep-heavy eyes, pulled away just enough to smile warmly down at the other. “Could you get the drapes?” He asked softly and shook his head with an almost wolfish grin when Merlin made to leave the bed and the warmth and security of Arthur’s embrace. “From here.” He clarified, almost smugly, as the other’s confusion bled into understanding; with sun-bright eyes and a fond smile, Merlin complied.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not at all what was supposed to happen with this fic?? Also its being an arse about formatting so many apologies for that


End file.
